


automatic joy

by fatal_drum



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, Dark, Dark Tim Stoker, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dissociation, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Humiliation, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Martin Whump, Stranger!Tim Stoker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-10 07:50:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19497223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/pseuds/fatal_drum
Summary: Tim comes back, and he comes back wrong. The Stranger saw to that.When his new masters want revenge against the Archivist, Tim knows just where to strike.





	automatic joy

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [@cuttooth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttooth/pseuds/cuttooth) for their editing skills, helpful suggestions, and shameless enabling. Thanks also to [@nelja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelja/pseuds/Nelja-in-English) for their encouragement. Both of them are fabulous writers, and I admire them immensely.

_Coin-operated boy, sitting on the shelf_

_He is just a toy, but I turn him on, and he comes to life_

_Automatic joy, that is why I want_

_A coin-operated boy_

—The Dresden Dolls, “Coin-Operated Boy”

* * *

Martin wasn’t sure how long the stranger had been following him. He’d been working until well after nightfall, so tired he barely noticed his surroundings. He was nearly home when he caught the reflection in a store window: a tall, dark shape moving in the distance. The hairs prickled on the back of his neck. He could hear the steps behind him, but he resisted the urge to turn around. 

When he turned onto his street, the stranger turned with him. It was late, and they were alone. He considered walking past his building, so the stranger wouldn’t know where he lived, but he didn’t have anywhere else to go. Besides, maybe he was just imagining being followed. Maybe the stranger just lived nearby. 

He walked faster, and the stranger kept pace. Definitely following him. His mobile was in his pocket, but who would he call? He didn’t think anyone from the Institute would come. He’d distanced himself from his coworkers for a reason, and he doubted Peter would care, as long as the paperwork got done. The police were out of the question; they couldn’t protect him, and worse, they might get hurt. 

The sight of his building was such a relief he nearly sighed aloud. He flung the door open and hurried up the stairs. He made it to the second floor before he heard the building door open again, and he nearly tripped over the last stair. The stranger had followed. His heart was pounding in his chest, fingers shaking so hard he dropped his keys, and had to scramble to pick them up. He had just turned the lock when a hand closed on his shoulder. He let out a strangled scream, whirling to face his attacker. 

The stranger’s face was heartbreakingly familiar: sun-kissed skin, high cheekbones, sparkling dark eyes—there was no mistaking him for anyone but Tim Stoker. Martin couldn’t help but drink in the sight of his face, his broad shoulders and familiar smile. He reached out a shaking hand, and Tim stood still as Martin touched first his shoulder, then his face.

“Tim,” he said, too overwhelmed to manage anything else. So many months thinking of what he would say to Tim if he had the chance, and he couldn’t remember any of it. 

Something dark caught Martin’s eye, and he looked down. There was a line of ragged black stitches around the base of Tim’s throat. A low moan of fear escaped Martin’s lips. The torn edges of Tim’s skin were ragged and mismatched, the skin below his collar a lighter shade than Martin remembered. 

“Let me in,” Tim said conversationally, “Before someone sees me, and I have to hurt them.” 

Tim’s smile widened, stretching the corners of his mouth until it threatened to split his face. Martin unlocked the door with shaking hands, and Tim followed him inside. The longer Martin looked at him, the more _wrong_ Tim looked. Not just the stitches at his wrists and throat, but something Martin couldn’t place. 

“W-what happened to you?” he asked. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Tim’s face. He’d dreamed about it too many times to look away. 

“You left me behind,” Tim said. “You never even looked for me, did you?”

Tim’s gaze was unwavering, pinning Martin where he stood. He didn’t even blink. The scrutiny weighed down on Martin, and it was the least of what he deserved. 

“They told me you died,” Martin said weakly. 

Tim laughed. “And you didn’t even check. Some friend you were.”

“I...I’m so sorry, Tim.” 

“Really? Is that the best you can do? I expected Jon to leave me behind, but you, Martin? You always said we were like _family—_ you, me, and Sasha. Now who’s left?”

Tim’s eyes burned like coals, bringing all of Martin’s worst fears to life. That he’d failed his friends. That they _knew_ it. Martin’s throat tightened, and he swallowed hard.

“Tim, there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish I’d taken your place. Nothing’s the same without you.”

“Poor, poor Martin,” Tim said with mock pity. “So alone! And so _sorry!_ What a hard life you must lead.”

“Tim, if there’s _anything_ I can do for you, I’ll do it. I know I can’t make up for it, but—”

“As a matter of fact, there _is_ something you can do,” Tim said thoughtfully.

He grinned, showing far too many teeth, then _lunged._ Before Martin knew what was happening, Tim had pinned him to the wall, forcing both of Martin’s wrists overhead. His grip was like iron. Martin squirmed uselessly as Tim leaned close. 

“You lied about us being family, but that’s fine. My _real_ family found me. They picked me up out of the ashes, took all my best parts and stitched me back together again, good as new. Better, even.” Tim squeezed Martin’s wrists so tight he thought they’d break. “They’ve sent me on a mission. Do you know what it is? It’s a good one, I promise.” 

“N-no…?”

“I’m going to show the Archivist _exactly_ how useless he is. He’s kind of hard to get to these days, but lucky for me, _you’re_ not.” Tim winked, as if Martin were in on the joke. 

“What are you going to do?” Martin asked, then wished he hadn’t. 

Tim paused, tilting his head as if in thought. “I think I might _skin_ you. You always did have such soft skin.” 

Tim ran a hand down the side of Martin’s face, making him shiver. His fingers were cold, with an unnatural hardness beneath. Like wood wrapped in leather, Martin thought. A marionette clothed in flesh. Tim ran his thumb over Martin’s lower lip, prying it open. Before Martin could react, he thrust two fingers in as deep as they would go. Martin gagged at the unexpected taste that filled his mouth, like cured leather stained with blood. 

“Lovely,” Tim murmured, eyes fixed on Martin’s mouth. He pumped his fingers in and out, exploring at his leisure, before adding a third. 

Saliva pooled in Martin’s mouth, trickling slowly through Tim’s fingers. His face burned. So many times, he’d dreamed of having Tim this close, but it was all _wrong._ It wasn’t really Tim, he told himself. Even if this creature looked like Tim and had his voice, Tim wouldn’t look at Martin like he was a piece of meat, or an insect he might crush under his boot. 

Tim’s fingers slid out, and he wiped them on Martin’s shirt. His eyes were fixed on Martin’s face. 

“Maybe we’ll have a little fun first,” Tim murmured. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” 

Tim crushed his mouth against Martin’s with bruising force. His tongue was strangely firm as it slid between Martin’s lips, stroking the inside of his mouth. A wave of revulsion washed over Martin as Tim’s tongue explored his mouth, slowly, intimately. There was no escaping it. 

Tim hauled him into the bedroom, ignoring his struggles with effortless grace. He’d always been taller and more athletic than Martin, muscles honed from years of sports, and now he was even stronger. His grip didn’t loosen one bit, no matter how hard Martin tried to escape. 

“Why are you fighting?” Tim asked. He pushed Martin down onto the bed with a hand on his chest, using his other hand to open Martin’s jeans. “We’re friends, aren’t we? There’s nothing to be afraid of.” 

Tim pulled his jeans down, flipping him over to expose his arse, and Martin bit down on a sob. Tim’s taunting only reminded him of how much he’d lost. He’d never felt as alone as he did now, with Tim kneading his buttocks hard enough to leave bruises. He wondered if Peter would be jealous of someone else feeding off his loneliness and fear. If he would even care. 

Then Tim prodded his hole again, fingers still damp from Martin’s mouth, and all Martin’s thoughts fled him. 

“Please, Tim,” he begged. “You don’t have to do this. W-we can go back to the Institute! We’ve all missed—”

Tim slapped him hard across the face. The sting startled Martin so much he didn’t even try to stop Tim when he shoved his fingers back into Martin’s mouth. 

“You never gave a fuck about me. You were too busy seeing how wide you could open your throat for Jon.” Tim chuckled cruelly. “Metaphorically, that is. Seeing as he never bothered to touch you.” 

Martin flushed with shame. Tim had always been bitter about Martin and Jon, accusing him of taking Jon’s side on everything. He never believed Martin when he said his feelings didn’t come into it. _Tell me when you’re ready for someone who treats you like you deserve,_ Tim had once snapped in the heat of an argument. 

Martin had chalked that one up to anger and not attraction. It made no sense that Tim would want him; Tim could have anyone he liked, and frequently _did._ Martin was just a clumsy archival assistant with bad hair and a secondhand wardrobe. Even now that Tim had him half naked, Martin didn’t think it was about want. Tim had just found another way to pay Martin back for abandoning him. 

“I’m really doing you a favor,” Tim said, choking Martin with his fingers. “You can’t get enough, can you? Hungry little slut like you. I bet Lukas just _loves_ it.”

Martin whimpered. He hadn’t meant to sleep with Peter. It had just sort of...happened. One moment he’d been staring at Tim’s and Sasha’s desk, and the next, Peter was just _there._ It had been the easiest thing to let Peter bend him over Jon’s desk and take what he wanted. It had felt good, even. Peter was rough with him, never leaving room for thought or protest. Every moment with Peter was a moment he didn’t have to miss anyone. 

Tim yanked his fingers from Martin’s mouth, and Martin gasped for air. This time Tim didn’t bother with teasing, just forced his fingers back into Martin’s arse. Martin cried out in startled pain. 

“You’re so tight for me,” Tim said approvingly. “You’d better relax, though, because I’m _very_ big. I’ll tear you apart if you’re not careful.” 

Martin whimpered. Tim’s fingers already felt enormous, and if office gossip was anything to go by, the rest of him was bigger. Tim pushed deeper, making a satisfied humming sound. His fingers were harder than a person’s, with much less give. 

Martin’s thoughts raced in panicked circles. Tim couldn’t possibly be doing this to him, but he _was._ And once it happened, there was no going back. Every good memory from their time in the archives would just lead to _this._

“Tim, please,” Martin pleaded. 

“Please _what,_ Martin?” Tim asked mockingly. “Please forgive me after I abandoned you? Please don’t _hurt_ me?”

Martin opened his mouth to answer, but Tim jammed his fingers in to the hilt, and he cried out. Tim’s fingers stroked him ruthlessly, finding the places that sent sparks up his spine. To Martin’s horror, he was beginning to harden. A wave of hot shame rolled over him. He tried willing his arousal away, but Tim was unrelenting, stroking the same spot over and over until Martin was a whimpering mess. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. 

“Maybe it was ‘please _fuck_ me,’ ” Tim said thoughtfully. 

Tim pulled his fingers out again, bringing Martin both relief and humiliation as his arsehole clutched at nothing. Martin buried his face in the pillow until Tim seized his shoulder and flipped him onto his back. He tried to push Tim away, but he easily straddled Martin’s shoulders, his weight crushing Martin’s chest. Tim rubbed slow circles against the front of his jeans.

“Might as well give you what you’re so desperate for,” Tim said, opening his belt and lowering the zip, inches from Martin's face. Martin had no choice but to watch as Tim pulled out his cock, He’s been half afraid it would be some stitched-up horror, but it looked just like any other, except for the size. Tim rubbed it against his face, and Martin flinched away, panic welling in his chest. It was too much, he was too vulnerable, flat on his back with no room for retreat. He couldn’t take it, he knew he couldn’t—

“Open up,” Tim ordered, lightly slapping Martin’s cheek. Martin turned his face away, only for Tim to grab his hair and yank him back. “None of that. Stop pretending this isn’t exactly what you wanted, and open your mouth.”

When that didn’t work, Tim covered Martin’s nostrils with his hand. Martin held his breath for as long as he could, but the second he took a breath, Tim pried his mouth open and shoved his cock between Martin’s lips. 

Tim’s cock tasted as strange and wrong as his fingers. There was no heat to his skin, and no sign of a pulse. The texture was soft, but underneath was an unnatural hardness that pushed its way down Martin's throat and made him gag violently. Tim gripped his hair as he thrust into his mouth, using him like a toy. Tears ran down the sides of his face, soaking his hair. 

_It’s not Tim,_ he reminded himself. _Tim would never do this_. 

But the alternative was that Tim was gone for real, and that hurt just as much. 

Tim moaned, head tilted back in pleasure as he rubbed himself against Martin’s lips and tongue. Martin’s teeth didn’t seem to bother him as he pleasured himself, grinding against Martin’s face and into his throat again. Martin’s lungs screamed for air, and his hands scrabbled uselessly at Tim’s thighs. Tim didn’t seem to even notice, absorbed in the slow wet slide of his cock in Martin’s mouth. Finally he pulled out enough for Martin to get in a few desperate gasps of air, before he pushed back in again. 

How sure was Martin that Tim would never hurt him? Tim had been...different, by the end. Bitter in ways that had frightened him. He’d haunted the Institute like a vengeful ghost, lecturing Martin about how trusting he was, how Jon would hurt him in the end. 

Maybe Tim had always hated him. Maybe Martin had earned this. The tears came faster, and he would have sobbed if Tim gave him any room, but all he could do was lie still and take it, trying his best not to choke. What if he suffocated? Would Tim even stop? Or would he just leave Martin’s body for Jon to find later, naked and defiled?

Tim began thrusting faster, holding Martin in place with a painful grip on his hair, until he finally pulled out to give himself a few last, rough strokes. With a low groan, he came all over Martin’s tear-stained face, across his cheek closed eyelids, even clumping in his lashes. Martin shuddered. 

“There, there,” Tim said with mocking gentleness. “You’re all right.”

Tim scooped Martin up against his chest. His arms felt so warm and strong around Martin, and soon he was sobbing into Tim’s chest, filled with a mix of grief, guilt, and shame. Tim shushed him, stroking his hair. His come dripped down Martin’s cheek, and Tim used his fingers to push it into his mouth, keeping them there until he swallowed meekly. The taste was strangely bland, like a mouthful of wax, and it left a trail of sticky residue on his face. Tim sighed appreciatively. 

“You’re downright sweet once you’ve had a dick in you,” Tim commented, running his hand under Martin’s shirt. “You haven’t tried to get away once.”

“I can’t stop you,” Martin said quietly. 

“No, you can’t.” 

Tim grinned, pushing Martin onto his back to finish stripping him, removing the last of Martin’s defenses. Something brushed against Martin’s thigh, and he realized Tim was still hard. One of the perks of not being human, Martin supposed. Tim could probably stay hard as long as he wanted. He could use Martin all night, if he wanted to. Longer, even. 

Martin wondered how long it would take for anyone to realize he was missing. How long before they’d bother to look for him. The thought left him in a cold sweat. If he hadn’t been panicking before, he was definitely panicking now. 

Shoving Martin’s thighs apart, Tim rubbed himself against his hole with a sigh, pausing just short of breaching him. Martin trembled, waiting for Tim to tear him apart, but Tim did nothing until he looked up. Their eyes met, and Tim fixed him with a wicked smile before pushing in. 

Martin shuddered, trying to force himself to relax, because spit really wasn’t enough for this. His breath came in sharp, pained gasps as Tim forced himself deep, an inch at a time. When Tim finally bottomed out, it punched the breath out of him. 

Tim didn’t give him time to adjust, just hitched Martin’s legs over his arms and fucked him as he pleased. Martin gripped the front of his shirt, unable to cope with the sensation of being filled and stretched and _used,_ an overwhelming mix of pain and unwanted arousal. Tim grinned down at him, lips stretched inhumanly wide. 

“I could take you with me, you know,” he said. “Would you like that? We could dance together in the circus, me and you and Danny. I think he’d like you.” 

Tim adjusted his angle, making Martin groan and clench tighter around him. He hit the same spot, again and again, and Martin bit his lip until it bled. 

“Please stop,” he moaned. “Please, please—”

“I can tell how much you hate this,” Tim mocked, gripping Martin’s cock. He ran his thumb through the fluid beading at the tip, making Martin shudder. “Don’t tell me you never jerked off thinking of this. Of me.”

Tim drove into Martin so hard he shook the bed. Martin’s neighbors were going to complain, he thought hysterically. He’d be embarrassed if he thought he’d live through the night. Tim circled his hips, and Martin nearly screamed.

After a few moments, Martin realized Tim was still talking. About the beauty of the circus and its strange music. How happy Martin would be if he joined them. How good he was being for Tim. How much Martin was loving this. He fucked Martin relentlessly, each thrust perfectly aimed to exploit his weak spots, leaving him too overwhelmed to respond, to deny. Tim only took it as encouragement. 

“Come for me, Martin. Show me how good you are.” Tim growled, squeezing Martin’s cock. Martin could scarcely breathe, between the force of Tim’s thrusts and the harsh movements of his hand. Tim’s mouth crushed his, and he was coming, suddenly, violently, crying into Tim’s mouth. 

Tim didn’t stop, barely even slowed down, but his angle was just as merciless as before. Martin thrashed against him, trying to escape the unbearable stimulation, but Tim held him fast. 

It seemed to go on forever. Martin’s body became a distant thing, as if it belonged to someone else. Martin was a thousand miles away, unable to move or speak or cry. His body did those things on its own, and he was only vaguely aware of them. Tim came inside him, again and again, but Martin barely noticed. Martin eventually grew hard again. He could hear himself begging Tim to stop, to remember who he was, to be _himself_ again, but Tim showed no sign of hearing him. 

All he could do was stare up at Tim, beautiful Tim, who he’d missed so much. The chiseled jaw, the sharp cheekbones. His eyes were the same dark brown Martin remembered, but now they were utterly cold. Martin came a second time, staring into those merciless eyes, but the sensation was distant. 

Tim didn’t stop for a long time. Exactly how long, Martin didn’t know. Eventually Tim’s hips stilled, and he simply rested against Martin’s body. Some absent part of Martin wondered if Tim was going to kill him now or later. Perhaps he would use Martin again first, but it didn’t really matter. Martin wasn’t really there anymore.

Tim was saying something. That didn’t matter any more than what he did to Martin’s body, but he was getting louder, shaking him by the shoulders until his head lolled to the side. The sound of a sharp slap rang out, and then someone was pulling Martin by the hair, forcing him to look up. Martin’s face hurt. Most of Martin hurt by now. 

Slowly, Martin’s eyes came into focus. Tim was staring down at him with an unreadable expression. On someone else, it might have been concern. 

“You don’t get to hide from me,” Tim snapped.

“...sorry,” Martin whispered. 

“What for?” Tim sneered.

Martin swallowed, then regretted it; he felt like he had swallowed broken glass. 

“Everything,” he whispered. “It’s okay if you kill me. I understand.” 

Tim stared down at him for a long moment before his expression hardened. 

“I’m not going to kill you tonight, Martin. It’s better if you live.” Tim leaned down close, brushing a lock of hair out of Martin’s face. “I need you to remember. The Eye can’t protect you. _Jon_ can’t protect you. Anywhere you go, I’ll be able to find you.”

Tim kissed him again, more softly than before, and Martin shivered.

Afterwards, Tim left Martin there on the bed, closing the door behind him. Martin stared up at the ceiling and thought of the look on Tim’s face. So many months of missing Tim, and he finally got his wish. He would have laughed, if he’d been able to. Or wept, but he didn’t think he could anymore. 

He stared up at the ceiling until daybreak. 


End file.
